To Calm the Nerves
by xBroken-Glassx
Summary: Takes place during Yellow Fever. As Dean is surviving the last few minutes of the Ghost Sickness, he gets an unexpected visitor. Kind of an implied pre-slash.


**A/N:** I was watching Yellow Fever the other day, and like other episodes during the fourth and fifth seasons where the angels aren't present, I was like "where's Cas, or the other angels" and I never understood why the characters would disappear for a few episodes. So, to make me feel better, I included Cas in a deleted scene kind of thing. I was aiming for it to be a slash thing, but that failed, so it's pre-slash now, but it was because I was getting frustrated that I couldn't make it slash without the characters being out of character if you know what I mean. So, I hope I at least kept them in character. I never had the intention of writing Supernatural fanfic ever because Dean is so hard to write, so I just hope I haven't completely failed.

**Rating: **K+ only for the implied pre-slash

**Pairing:** Dean/Castiel (Destiel)

**Summary:** Takes place during Yellow Fever. As Dean is surviving the last few minutes of the Ghost Sickness, he gets an unexpected visitor. Kind of an implied pre-slash (depending on your definition).

Enjoy!

**To Calm the Nerves**

Dean Winchester sat cowering between the wall and the bed, continuously scratching the inside of his arms, more out of comfort from the paranoia that was invading his mind than from an actual itch. His breath came out in tensed rasps, his eyes darting all over the room while his head spun left to right, always feeling like he was catching a glimpse of a shadow, only to find nothing was there.

He had decided to sit there because he was agitated, this ghost sickness becoming worse after the sheriff had died right in front of him. And then the hellhounds had begun howling again, so the most logical thing for him to do seemed to be to hide. At least until Sammy's plan was accomplished.

A small flap could be heard, and the formerly macho Winchester turned to the noise apprehensively, only to jump and squirm away from the solemn expression the angel Castiel always wore. The angel had been crouching only a few inches away from his face.

"Hello Dean," he greeted him in the low monotone of his voice, his expression never changing.

"C-C-Cas," Dean sputtered, his heart hyperventilating at the angel's unexpected visit. He was already uneasy whenever the angels started poofing out of nowhere; now it completely terrified him. "G-G-Go away!"

The messenger of God almost looked amused for a second, but then returned to being expressionless.

"We need to talk," he continued.

"Later," Dean said hurriedly, trembling as his vision was starting to blur into more hallucination. He closed his eyes to make them stop, only to be confronted by the fear of the dark.

Castiel didn't move from where he was. _Of course he won't leave_, Dean noted. _He's subservient to his orders from Heaven_. Meeting Dean was just his job – he didn't actually care about his well-being.

"Why are you afraid," Castiel asked slowly, his brows coming together, confused. It seemed whenever he interacted with the humans in his charge, they only made him second-guess what he used to already know.

"M-M-Monsters," Dean babbled. "Sammy…he's gonna stop it. Ghost sickness. I'm…I'm…I'mma dick." The angel was only more puzzled as he watched the elder Winchester shiver and whimper like a small child. He looked away when something about the situation in front of him made him…him…feel? Was that the term? He only remained more confused. Angels couldn't feel. And what was this…feeling – if that's what it was. It was something that made him want to take away Dean's fear.

"There's nothing here Dean," he told him, his voice still emotionless. "And…I don't think you're a 'dick'. Not all the time." Dean looked over at him, his lower lip trembling.

"That's helpful Cas," he replied, almost sounding like his old self again. Despite that he never ceased to hold that grudge he had against angels, he was almost thankful for Castiel's presence.

Castiel reached forward and put two fingers against Dean's forehead. Instantly, Dean began to calm down, his breathing and heartbeat becoming more relaxed, even if only for a short while. Despite the angel's mojo powers, Dean's constant shaking and trembling couldn't be fixed.

"It'll wear off soon, but it should help," Castiel assured him. Dean nodded, still trembling, and then moved closer to him, resting his head on the angel's shoulder. Ironic, since the famous saying said it was the other way around: an angel resting on _his_ shoulder.

Castiel didn't react to the body leaning against his. He still had yet to learn about boundaries of distance people normally kept between each other, and how in the current moment they might've been sitting too close.

"Ghost sickness," he repeated. "That's what you have?"

Dean nodded, turning his face to hide into Castiel's trench coat. Finding it dark though, he opened his eyes and stared at the framework of the bed.

"You know, Dean, there's nothing to fear," the angel tried telling him.

"I can't help it!" He insisted, scratching his arm again. Castiel put his hand over his.

"Stop."

Dean was quiet a minute, but he felt the paranoia coming for him again. In the corner of the room, he caught sight of the knives, the knives that had been used on him in Hell. _No_, he begged silently. _Not again._

"I'm going to die, aren't I? It's happening again," he muttered, rambling about the feelings he usually kept hidden. The thoughts he kept from Sammy. The ones he couldn't let his brother know.

"Dean," Castiel tried soothing, although it was ruined by the seriousness of his voice. "It's all right. You're not going to die. I'm here."

"Why can't you just stop it? Angels are supposed to help –"

"We have to let you fight your own battles too," he explained. "In fact, I shouldn't be here."

"Then why are you here?" Dean exclaimed, holding onto the angel tightly, as if Castiel would disappear as soon as he let him go.

The angel was quiet a moment. Thinking. He always had to think whenever he was around Dean. Maybe because Dean complicated his job, making him see the doubts and wrongs of some of the orders he received. When he had come, he had told himself it was to talk to him. About what though? He had forgotten.

He knew deep down it was because he hated watching Dean be tortured like this.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay," he replied, hesitantly. If anyone in Heaven was eavesdropping on the conversation, he knew he'd be in trouble.

"Just make it stop," Dean begged. "Make it stop!"

Castiel hated himself for saying it, but he had to encourage him to continue fighting:

"You can do it yourself Dean. All the things you think you see, they're not real. You can make it stop. Just remind yourself it's not real." Castiel's eyes fell sadly as he watched Dean continue to cower, shaking his head at the advice. How could he make he of little faith believe in himself?

Castiel continued to look down at the mortal before leaning forward, brushing his lips against his temple, trying to think of something inspiring to keep the young man motivated to survive by whispering it in his ear. Coming up with nothing, he sat up again.

A flap could be heard, and Dean fell over without the support of the angel beside him. He looked up worriedly, becoming more stressed without Castiel's presence.

Warily, he got up from between the bed and the wall and sat down on the comforter. He began scratching his arm, noticing that it was itching again. He was almost okay, until he started hearing Sam's voice: _You're going back. And it's about time too._ Then the hellhounds began barking.

Dean grabbed the Bible that was always distributed to each hotel room and held the book close, trying to find some comfort from it.

He hoped Cas was right.


End file.
